A LON ELY LAKE. 
35 
which rests against its mate, is the porcupines’ 
den. By lying down between the rocks and 
crawling forward into the mouth of the den I 
can see several feet into its black interior. A 
passage large enough for a hound to squeeze 
through leads out of sight below the rocks. 
Quills and hairs line the ground, and other 
marks of long occupancy are abundant. I have 
been told by farmers that they had killed old 
“ hedgehogs ” weighing nearly fifty pounds. 
Tales are told of white porcupines, and it is 
impossible to shake the hunter’s belief in the 
brutes’ power to shoot their quills at their 
enemies. 
The skunk is a well-known character at the 
pond, but I have not sought her society, and it 
is an open question whether she lives in a de¬ 
serted woodchuck hole or among the boulders 
on the porcupine’s hill. 
So far as I know, Bruin never comes to my 
pond. He lives within sight of it among the 
oaks and blueberry patches on the ledges of 
Chocorua, and if his small eyes ever scan the 
landscape from the cliffs above the heart of the 
mountain, he can see its emerald water gleam¬ 
ing in the sunlight. I am more than willing 
not to find his huge footprints on my mosses. 
Deer, on the other hand, go freely and fre¬ 
quently to the pond, and in May and June 
come to the garden patch below my cottage. 
